Like Father, Like Son
by Marla Fair
Summary: Written for the September Bonanza Boomers Fan Fiction Challenge - Ben Cartwright looks into the mirror and isn't so sure he likes what he sees.


Like Father, Like Son

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I...don't know how to reach him.

It's a failing on my part and it tears me up to admit it, but admit it I must if I am to be honest. You see, we're too alike. Not that I care to admit that either. Still the years have changed me. I've mellowed. I am not the fiery young man I once was.

My youngest is.

As a father it's your desire to instill in your sons certain values, to guide them – sometimes with a gentle, but often with a firm hand – toward a place where they can live a life that will bring honor to both them and you. There's a balance – a fine line, if you will – between giving them confidence and making them willful; between making them strong and causing them to become stubborn and pig-headed. You want them to stand up for what is right, but you want them to think that what _you_ believe is right _is_ right.

Not what they believe.

I did my youngest a disservice tonight. Little Joe... No, just 'Joe'. He chafes at that nickname anymore. That nickname that takes me back every time I hear it to his mother's lips whispering it that first time.

Those beautiful lips.

Joe has his mother's lips. And eyes. And her tempestuous spirit. He has another thing that belonged to her – Marie's brilliant mind. Oh, Joe doesn't think of himself as bright, even though he evidences it every time he finds an error in my or Adam's calculations. And the thing is he never really rubs it in. Oh, he gets that shine in his eyes and his lips quirk, and now and then he'll make a remark that has Adam's eyes rolling. But all in all my youngest son is a joy – a great joy. Smart, handsome, fun-loving, strong, determined...

Determined.

So determined that tonight when I questioned a choice he had made – a choice I regarded as reckless and irresponsible – my smart, handsome, fun-loving, _strong_ boy told me in so many words to go to Hell.

Not _with_ those words, of course, but I knew what he meant.

Now, as an older and – mellowed man – I should have stroked my chin and looked thoughtful and said, 'Son, perhaps you should rephrase that.' But did I?

No.

I told a man once that Joe had an anger within him that I didn't understand. I lied. I understand it all too well, for it's in me also. Deep-rooted and given by God as a thorn in the flesh. I rose from my chair and I demanded – _demanded_ – Joe apologize and then, God help me, I ordered my twenty-year-old son to his room.

I think that wounded him deepest of all.

I want to tell him I was wrong, but I know he won't listen. He's sitting on the porch, one fist on his hip and the other pressed against his lips, lost in a world all his own – a world where his father doesn't trust him and still thinks of him as a little boy. And so here I stand, in the kitchen hidden behind the checked curtains, watching as my middle son steps out of the house and takes a breath before speaking to his brother.

"Hey there, Joseph," I hear Hoss say.

Joe doesn't seem to hear him.

My giant of a son moves closer. "Hey, Joe. How's it goin'?"

Joe's lean form stirs. He glances over his shoulder at his brother.

Dear God, there are tears in his eyes.

"You know Pa didn't mean nothin' by what he said," Hoss tries.

Joe's nostrils flare. His nose wrinkles. "Sure."

"He's just worried about you. You gotta admit, short-shanks, sometimes you take mighty big chances."

My youngest spins in his chair. "But Hoss, I..." Suddenly, his bluster blows away. "Darn it, Hoss. I know Pa's right. I..." Joe sucks in air. "I was about to tell him so when he, well, you know..."

"Told you to go to bed like you was ten years old?"

It wounds me to see Joe's shoulders sag.

"Hoss, I know you think of me as grown up, even when you josh me. But Pa and Adam, I don't think they ever will. I'll always be 'little' Joe."

I watch as the gentle giant walks up to his brother and places an arm around his shoulders. "You know, Joe, bein' youngest ain't so bad. It's got you extra slices of pie your whole life."

Joe starts. Then he snickers. The sound lightens my heavy heart. "And extra times at the fishing hole."

"And all them days sleepin' in without Pa rippin' your head off like he would of done to me or Adam."

The smile fades. "He sure ripped my head off tonight."

"That's 'cause he loves you, Joe, and Pa don't want nothin' bad to happen to you."

"I suppose it was kind of stupid and I shouldn't have said what I did. I was just so mad."

Hoss smiles. "So was Pa. You two are more alike than either of you wants to admit."

Joe thinks a moment. "You think so? Pa and me? I always thought it was that old Yankee granite head, Adam, took after Pa."

The pair of them look at each other and explode into laughter.

Enough is enough.

Lifting the latch, I open the door and step onto the porch. Their laughter dies immediately.

"Son. Was there something you'd like to tell me?"

When he discerns who I mean, Joe squeaks, "Who? Me?"

"Yes, you."

Joe scrunches up his face and lets out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Pa. Even if I disagree, I shouldn't have said what I did."

I place a hand on his shoulder. "I shouldn't have said what I did either. How can I make it up to you?"

My youngest looks down as he thinks a moment. Then his head comes up wearing that devilish smile.

"How about I send you to _your_ room?"


End file.
